I am hungry. Very hungry. I want chicken and potato wedges. I go to KFC.
I order food. Smile at cute girl behind counter. She smiles back. I order. She looks sad, then says, “I’m sorry, we’re out of potato wedges. Is cole slaw ok?”
Cole slaw is not ok. Potato wedges are ok. If you were not cute, you would be dead for suggesting that cabbage bits are equal to potato wedges.
I say this in my mind. Out loud I say, “Well …” and then her superviser jumps in to save the day. “We have more potato wedges,” he says divinely, “but it will take several minutes to cook them. Can we bring them out to you?” Cute girl adds, “I will bring them out to you.”
Waiting for potato wedges is unbearable, but less unbearable than no potato wedges. I let both he and the cute girl who obviously wants me live.
I sit down and wait. I am very hungry. I wish to dip my potato wedges in my mashed potatoes, as is commanded in the holy scripture. I sin and eat my crispy strips and mashed potatoes. I sin further and eat my biscuit. I sin because I do these things with no potato wedges.
I finish my drink and get a refill. I do not see cute girl behind the counter. Perhaps she is getting my potato wedges. Perhaps her superviser has killed her for even suggesting cole slaw as a substitute to potato wedges. If so, I hope he will finish quickly and bring me my potato wedges.
I sit back down and finish my refill. I clear my tray. I get another refill. I watch a different cute girl washing table tops. She does not appear to have my potato wedges. I sip my drink. I am in denial, but eventually I can no longer deny the truth - they are not going to bring my potato wedges.
I am outwardly calm, but inside I burn with the heat of a thousand deep fat fryers. My hand shakes as I take another sip of my drink. I stand slowly. I do not like what I must do, but there is no alternative.
I walk to the front counter. They are moderately busy. The superviser’s eyes catch mine - he knows. I know that he knows. He is about to help another customer, but he is wise beyond his teenage years. He addresses me: “You haven’t recieved your potato wedges yet, have you sir?”
He is indeed wise. This is why I let him live. He continues, “She’s out on a smoke break.”
A smoke break? I say. Her nicotine habit is more important to her than my pleasure in consuming the food of the gods? The very idea is blasphemous! I curse her! I curse her and her family unto the third generation! May she be cursed by having the gods force her to become my girlfriend.
I say this in my mind. Aloud I say, “No, I have not.”
He says something to the other cute girl, and then goes to help the new customers. Other cute girl leaves. I hope she is getting my potato wedges. I begin to look around for a spork, in case something bad goes down.
Cute girl returns from inhaling carcinogens. I do not care how cute you are, I say, I have cursed you and your family unto three generations!
She smiles at me. I say nothing aloud, but involuntarily smile back. Then I smile back voluntarily. I reduce her cursing to unto two generations.
Other cute girl sets a tray in front of me. On it are two orders of potato wedges. Two.
Moral: Resisting the urge to kill can sometimes be advantageous, even when the urge to kill is justified.
Second Moral: If I must wait this long for potato wedges again, I will kill you twice before you hit the ground and then get my potato wedges myself.
